


Little Girls Purple and Red

by Avatar_Vyakara



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Minor Character Death, RIP Christine Cavanaugh, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27490558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avatar_Vyakara/pseuds/Avatar_Vyakara
Summary: The threads bind together, and Drake, Gosalyn, and Launchpad find themselves up against old enemies, lost friends, conniving movie directors, and a dark, dark magic. Featuring many, many thoughts on the nature of Darkwing Duck, fatherhood, and living up to the legends of our childhood (and whether they deserve it).
Relationships: Drake Mallard & Gosalyn Mallard, Drake Mallard & Launchpad McQuack, Gosalyn Mallard & Honker Muddlefoot, Gosalyn Mallard & Negaduck, Morgana Macawber/Drake Mallard
Comments: 17
Kudos: 41





	1. Seeing Red

There's isn't really a name for the person that Jim Starling has become.

Darkwing Duck? No. Darkwing Duck never had to hide in the _sewers_. (Not for more than an episode, anyway.) Darkwing Duck's clothes were dark, standing out against the brilliant moonlit nights and bustling lights of St. Canard. They weren't this garish yellow and orange, the only bright spot in the darkness. Darkwing Duck could solve any problem himself. He'd seen to it. He'd had to _feel_ he could do it, to make it right. Darkwing Duck was…forgotten. By almost everyone. (Except _That Hack_ \--)

Jim Starling? No. Jim Starling was tired. Living on his old glories, never given the chance to do something new. Never given the chance to be _everything_ he could be. Tossed aside, disregarded, not even given a chance to be his best self one more time. Not even in a small way. (Would a little respect have _ever_ \--)

He couldn't be Jim Starling again. Didn't care much for the life anyway. Nothing to hold him to it.

Amazing how many lies the mind can tell itself.

There is someone else in there, itching to be let out, and he stamps it down. _That_ was a dead end from the start. It couldn't work. Not anymore.

Nevertheless, we have to call him something.

Jim, then. It's the name he started out with, after all.

Jim doesn't really remember what's been happening to him. There was…Duckburg? Homeless wanderers along the streets, just passing through--the generosity of Scrooge McDuck (and doesn't _that_ name make him want to spit) is tight-fisted but decent enough. That's what they say, anyway. He doesn't listen much.

Someone tries to put him down, once. Just two thugs, two dogs, looking for easy pickings.

Jim Starling never cuts.

Jim…finds he _can_ cut. So long as the word "cut" is followed by "other people" and (because it's a cold night, and the dogs are growling and have already landed a punch on the old man that should have broken his ribs, and look, too late, into the swirling eyes and try to beat a retreat…) "up".

They all leave him alone after that.

He barely notices.

The memories from his life--his _lives_ \--have become all jumbled together. Did he really go to high school with Megavolt? Idolize Super-Pig? Was _she_ real? Was She?

Jim scrounges what he can from film sets, the only real home he's ever known (again, such a lie). He's kept up his training regiments, and is surprised to find it's not as easy as it was Before. Getting on a bit? Nah, couldn't be. Darkwing Duck is _timeless_ , people.

And one day, he sees a TV channel showing the St. Canard news.

He sees _That Hack_ , riding _his_ motorcycle (and a tiny part of Jim Starling is annoyed with the ridiculousness of it all, what was wrong with a simple bike? Showmanship's fine, son, but is your ego _that_ big?). He sees _his_ fan, sitting next to the duck who stole it all from him. And in front, _beside them_ \--

Jim sees red.

* * *

It's nice, Drake thinks, to actually be making a difference.

" _Yes_! In your _face_ , 'Nightflap91'!" shouts Gosalyn as she pumps the air.

"Okay, so it's been a little while since I was able to indulge properly in a good game of _Legends of Legend-Quest_. Does that make me _bad_ at it?"

"Hey, I'm only going by what's on the screen," says the kid, with a _little_ too much innocence.

"How was I supposed to know I wouldn't be able to save my old character?" Drake grumbles to himself. "I _miss_ my old character."

"Your new character is basically Darkwing Duck."

"So was my old one!"

"The strangest thing about this is that nobody's been able to actually find out who you _are_ yet."

"Oh, har har, _Quiverwing_ ," Drake snipes back. But it's an easy snipe, and the twinkle in Gosalyn's eyes is more than worth any blow to his pride. However major (this is _Legend of Legend-Quest_ , after all.)

"Whoo! I'm back! What did I miss!"

"Launchpad!"

"Me kicking Drake's retro butt, that's what!" says Gosalyn excitedly.

"Aw, cool! Don't worry, DW, you'll get back up to where you were."

"Story of my life, LP," moans Drake, dramatically flinging himself back against the couch.

"Ready to go?" says Gosalyn, patiently ignoring him.

"All set up for another _awesome_ night! Plus, I got three hours' sleep on the way here!"

Drake and Gosalyn share a quick look and an even quicker mental conversation, which boils down to, _He_ says _he can handle it…_

"Well, if you say so, buddy…" Drake shrugs, then grins. "Then let's…get… _dangerous_."

* * *

"Everything okay, DW?"

Launchpad _loves_ being out here, in the breeze of St. Canard. The night is young, and Gosalyn is whooping, and Drake is looking more and more like Darkwing Duck every day.

But…

Launchpad knows he's not good with subtle emotions, but it's…easier, with these two. He doesn't always know what to say, of course, but it's there, like it's there with Dewey. He can sense what they're feeling, and it affects him in different ways because neither of them try to hide anything.

It's a bit like Dewey, really.

And tonight, Drake seems a bit…off, somehow.

"Aw, it's nothing too big, LP," he says, rubbing his face. "Just this job thing tomorrow."

"They're _still_ hammering you about that?" says Gosalyn in disgust.

When Drake made the move to ask Gosalyn if she wouldn't mind being fostered with him (until they found her grandpa), and when she said _Y_ _es_ _!_ and then _I mean, sure, I guess_ , there had been one major sticking point. Drake technically didn't have any work. And no, a signed slip from Scrooge McDuck wasn't enough, not under Mayor Owlson's tenure. Dewey said it might be because of the trouble she'd gotten into thanks to Glomgold and Mr. Mc-D and Louie. Gosalyn had been a little less understanding. Loudly so, from what Drake had said.

The bottom line was, Drake now had to find something, even a minor job, to keep him going.

And with the new remakes coming out from Roaring Mouse Productions, Drake managed to find himself a part as a stunt double again, in the new _Cutie and the Critter_.

"I mean, I do get it," Drake groans, "and I could handle it. It's only a couple of hours at a time. Thank god for St. Canard's booming film business. But it means seeing _her_ again."

"Aw, is the mighty Darkwing Duck scared of a little voice actress?" teases Gosalyn.

"First of all, Kath Scoter is many things, but she is _not_ little," Drake retorts. "She's at least a head taller than me!"

"Making her still shorter than Launchpad--"

"And second, she is…she's…aargh, she's impossible to work with, that's what she is! She's got this _cool_ demeanour and keeps _sniping_ whenever she sees me! I can't even practice the jumps properly for Gascon without her _smirking_ at me in the background!"

"I mean you _did_ kind of show off a bit," says Gosalyn as they drive along Stones Road.

"Gascon is _supposed_ to be a show-off! Of _course_ I'm going to try and keep in--huh?"

Red smoke, up ahead, on a rooftop. Trailing along the tops of the various apartment blocks, ducking and weaving between buildings.

"Oho! An impenetrable pall of pernicious purpose, probably plotting!"

"Of _course_ you're going to try and keep in character," Gosalyn mutters.

"You're getting _really_ good at these!" Launchpad enthuses.

Drake gives him a shy smile, then turns back to the road. "And away we go!"


	2. The Scarlet Woman

Not that she’d _ever_ tell Drake, but Gosalyn’s actually starting to do some research on _Darkwing Duck_.

Well, she calls it research, to justify it to herself. With literally anything else she’d probably call it binging.

The _point_ , thank you very much, is that when Launchpad says, “Hey, does that look familiar to you at all?” Gosalyn can say with impunity that she does, in fact, recognize who this is. Might be. Not everything has to revolve around the old show.

It’s been a fun chase, the sort she wishes they could do more often. Somehow they got the Rat-Catcher up to the rooftops, leaping from building to building like something out of an action movie. And now they have the billowing smoke cornered.

”Come to think of it, it does ring a bell...” muses Drake as they park the Rat-Catcher. (At least Mayor Owlson had agreed to put Darkwing Duck’s parking bills on credit, smarmy old _tirana_.) “Red smoke, red smoke...ohhh!” And then for some reason he begins to blush, quite heavily. “Ohhh.”

”Uh, Darkwing? Shouldn’t we, you know, get moving?” Gosalyn gestures up at the rooftops. The smoke, at least, appears to her staying in place.

”I mean, yeah, we definitely _should_ , but I guess it couldn’t hurt to, you know, plan a little? Come up with a suprise? Got to keep looking my best and all, stay sharp stay fit and this suit doesn’t make me look too fat, does it?”

“Um...are you okay?”

”I am absolutely fine and cool as a cucumber,” Drake lies.

The thing is, does Gosalyn actually want to reveal she’s been watching the show on her own yet? Maybe not. She can imagine _exactly_ how Drake would start cooing about it. Big mushy dork. Save it for when it’s absolutely necessary, then.

For now, she hoists her crossbow out. “Great! So...we gonna catch the bad guy or what?”

”Ahh, I think I see what’s going on,” says Launchpad wisely. (So strange when he does that.) “Well, first impressions are very important.”

Drake visibly pulls himself together. “Launchpad, it could mean something else, too. If it’s her...”

”Who?” asks Gosalyn, disguising her frustration at not moving as frustration at not knowing.

”Morgana Macawber,” says Launchpad in a bit of a spooky voice. “The witch-queen of fungus. She was one of the most popular characters on the show, bit more of an anti-hero than a villain per se. Definitely most popular among the boy crowds.”

“Yeugh,” opines Gosalyn.

”What can I say, I’ve got a thing for tall, powerful women. Like there’s this really cool moon lady in Duckburg...”

”No, it’s more than that,” says Drake. “It’s too big a coincidence, LP. If it is her...then maybe there’s another portal opening up.”

”Another way to look for Grandpa!” says Gosalyn, realizing what he’s getting at and perking up. “So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go melt a witch!”

”Uh-buh-buh-buh! We have to play it carefully, Gos. Morgana’s not going to be impressed with anything less than the best of finesse. We’ve really got to _scream_ ‘creatures of the night’.”

”Can’t we just get a megaphone or something?” ‘Not very impressed’, she notes.

”Trust me, this worked wonders in the show. Now here’s what we’re going to do...”

* * *

Morgana has been wondering if he’d actually show. It was definitely his bike, but the rest of it? Not so clear. Darkwing Duck works alone, after all.

But there’s no mistaking the smoke bomb that goes off, filling the air with blue-purple gas.

Then the words.

” _I am the terror that flaps in the night!_ ”

It echoes everywhere.

” _I am the second date that threatens you with in-laws!_ ”

But there’s only one place he’ll turn up.

” _I...am DARKWING DUCK!_ ”

...it’s not him.

The figure standing there is too _different_ , as fresh and young as Darkwing Duck ever was but not quite real, somehow. The stance is right, but the costume is more streamlined, looks like someone did more than take a coat and cape and hat and strung them together. The eyes are right--the eyes are maybe a little _too_ right--but the voice inflects differently, the rhythm is slightly bumpy.

It’s not him.

”No, you’re not,” she says, coldly.

”I--whuh?”

”Who are you, and where did you get that suit?” she demands.

Fakewing Duck looks...bashful? That wasn’t normal. “I mean, I know it’s a little tacky, but it works surprisingly well--”

”It’s more than tacky, it looks like it came out of a cheap remake!”

Fakewing Duck gets riled up--the right way, too. But he puts some of it off, and that was something else Darkwing Duck had difficulty with. “Look, Morg--madam, this is really important. It doesn’t look like you’ve done anything criminal yet--”

”Yet! You’ve known me for two whole minutes and you’re already making assumptions!”

”I am _not_!” Damn it, Morg, voice-cracks are _not_ endearing!

”Uh, DW?” says a voice behind the man.

They both turn to look at quite a tall duck, wearing aviator gear and a sheepish expression.

”Oh. Right.” Fakewing coughs, and looks like he’s trying not to blush. No, it’s _not_ cute. "Look, what I'm trying to say is…we need your help. It's absolutely, vitally important that we learn how you got into this dimension."

"We?" says Morgana, and then has just enough time to collapse into mist as a girl jumps at right where her head used to be.

The girl crashes to the ground. "Oof!"

"Gosalyn!" That sounded almost…worried.

"I'm fine, I'm okay," the girl calls back. And then she aims the crossbow she was carrying at Morgana's head. "And now _you're_ going to tell me how you _got_ here."

"Hmm, let me see…well, when a witch finds a little girl and hates her very much--"

"Don't. _Joke_ ," from gritted teeth.

"I'm not going to tell you how I came to be here, _dear_ ," says Morgana, "because for the life of me I couldn't tell you. As far as I can remember this is where I've always been." Amazing the lies we tell ourselves.

The girl's eyes blaze. "Right, and you just _happened_ to turn up now?"

"I thought the time was right." Morgana pulls herself up with as much hauteur as she can hold, and that's a lot. " _Clearly_ I was mistaken."

She walks over to Fakewing Duck. She'd never, _never_ try this on Darkwing, but this one isn’t Darkwing, and it’s too good to resist. "But maybe we can…help each other," she purrs. Oh, she can see the conflict in his eyes, so precious.

"Help? Wha-what do you mean, help?"

"Well, you did mention dimensions, didn't you? And I do have some _minor_ magical talent. I'm sure there's a way we could…come to a deal?" She lifts his beak and he looks half-relaxed already.

"And it's…safe?" Dear me, still trying to bargain even now? Maybe he's more like Darkwing than she thought.

"Perfectly," she says, with just a hint of a smirk. "There's just one thing I need first…"

"What? _What_ do you need?" snaps the girl, shaking her hands exasperatedly.

And just like that, the spell is broken.

She pulls Fakewing's hat down over his head. "The _actual_ Darkwing Duck, if you wouldn't mind," she snaps.

"Now wait just a _minute_ \--"

"You get _back_ here--"

"Excuse me, ma'am–"

Her fingers click. Her body dissolves into red smoke, crackles with lightning made white-hot by anger, and she vanishes into the Nether.


	3. The Purple Cape

Drake and Gosalyn get home.

There doesn't seem to be much point in going further that night. They scope the city, of course, but that chance meeting with Morgana really messed things up. Drake tries to bolster things--"At least we know she's around, Gos. That means we've still got a chance"--but Gosalyn can tell he's feeling pretty despondent.

They both lost a shot at their goals tonight. Drake lost another chance to prove himself as Darkwing Duck. Gosalyn lost another chance at getting her grandpa back.

Annoyingly, Drake seems a little smitten still. Which makes no sense whatsoever to Gosalyn, but then Drake points out that she _did_ kind of try to kick through Morgana's head, so maybe they were both letting their emotions get the better of them.

There's an argument to be made for that, so Gosalyn lets him have it.

 _After_ they have a competition for early-breakfast world-records ("Why do we even _bother_ with milk?" says a rather beaten-up Drake, while Gosalyn is torn between laughing and worry and Launchpad hoists the fridge off his head).

Launchpad gets an early start back to Duckburg ("I'll see about doing some research into Morgana," he says, and softens. "You did okay, Drake."

"I let the bad guy get away, Launchpad."

"Well, technically not a bad guy per se, but--look, the important thing is making sure Gosalyn's alright. Right?"

And Drake smiles. "Yes, it is. And my sidekick, too. You holding up okay, LP?"

"I am literally living my dream," says Launchpad. "And I get to see Darkwing Duck making people happy again. That's all I need. One slow night isn't going to change that."

Drake holds open his arms for a hug. He even gets away with his ribs intact.)

They spend the rest of the early morning just…talking. Dewey's uncle, Donald, was adamant about it being one of the most important things he could do ("Just let her know you're there for her, and get to know her a bit better whenever she wants you to, because she's a new person and she'll almost always surprise you," and Drake somehow understood why Dewey told him to try his uncle instead of his mom), but Drake would want that even if he hadn't been told.

Because this girl is _amazing_. She'll talk about acrobat lessons and days spent making her own designs for tools and weapons--

"--surprise surprise, using crossbows turned out to be a _lot_ easier than proper bows, but eh, it's good to keep up practice at both."

"Now I understand the _Quiverwing Quack_ fixation." But he can't quite keep the awed look out of his eyes, and she sees it and _beams_.

"Oh har har, Drake. Are you _really_ one to talk about fixations?"

"It's a job, young lady, not a fixation."

"You have _arrows_ with your _face_ on them."

Tongues are stuck out. And then they burst out laughing.

\--and then there are quiet moments, shared mostly with Launchpad but more and more with Drake, where she talks about how she's actually feeling, even if it is in a rough-and-ready way--

"I messed up tonight, didn't I."

"So did I, Gos. But we're not too bad, right?"

"We kind of let the bad guy get away, though."

"But we know she's here, and we can _do_ something with that. We just need to think about ways to bring her about to work _with_ us." And Drake's getting better at watching this girl's face, and adds, "And even if she doesn't, then we just keep going. We're getting your grandpa back, Gos, I promise."

And she nods, quietly, and very quietly and with a definite I-will-emphatically-deny-this-if-you-call-me-out attitude, snuggles against him on the couch. And it's all Drake can do to gently put a hand on her shoulder and try not to explode with something he's not letting himself call love.

\--and then there are times where she has _no taste whatsoever_.

"Can we maybe _not_ watch _The Spy Who Flunked Me_ tonight?"

"It's a classic!" says Drake, aghast.

"It's _old_ , that doesn't make it a _classic_."

"All right then, young lady, what _does_ count?"

She pops open her WatPadd and pulls open Nutflix. "This!"

Drake looks at an image with what looks like a condor in a monk's robe, with…a giant six-legged flying llama? " _The Legend of Aawk?_ "

"Only _the_ best TV show to come out of the last decade!" she enthuses. "I mean, you're going to have to wait until Thread Two before we meet Atoc, but the other characters are okay. Especially Prince Kuzco."

Drake tries to look at it objectively. The blurb is suitably interesting ("Long ago, the four corners of the world lived together under the Empire of the Sun. Then, everything changed when the Bone-Warriors attacked…") and the ratings quite high, but he's still a little iffy. This _is_ fantasy, after all. Give him a good old detective show or spy thriller any day of the week, something he can put to use in his own life.

"Gos, you're giving me the beak again. Stop it."

Her eyes get even larger, and her bill starts pouting. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do so, and I fell for it last time! And the time before that!"

"I'm just wondering whether or not you'd be interested in some great art, that's all," she says, mercilessly innocent.

Darn it.

"We are _not_ making a habit of this," he grumbles, as Gosalyn connects her WattPadd to the TV.

…maybe _some_ taste. It's well acted, at least, and he recognizes some Roovian martial arts. And the landscapes are really something for an animated show, from the glacier in Chile where they find Aawk to the Imperial Palace. And…

Gosalyn is, of course, too old for lullabies. But a tiny part of Drake melted into a big soppy mess when he learned about "Little Girl Blue", just as another part is melting now when she dozes off and slowly, gently, leans into him.

(The first time she did this he nearly burst into tears. Launchpad _did_ , and thank god Gosalyn's a heavy sleeper.)

And he finds, even though he promised her he'd never sing the words until she was okay with it, that when he hums it she curls up just a little bit tighter so he can bring her to the guest bedroom in the Tower, wrapped in his cape.

Drake is utterly, utterly hopeless. And he knows it, and doesn't care one teeny tiny bit.

* * *

Launchpad sleeps.

Surprisingly enough, he gets into less accidents that way.

He feels…different when he's asleep. Like there's a part of him he never knew was there, who's older and wiser and remembers so much more.

He's only tangentially aware of it, of course, floating in the back of his own mind as he is, but the fact that he can _use_ the word tangentially means something's up.

More and more that other Launchpad has been thinking about what he could do that's _new_. He's saved up a lot of his salary from Mr. McD, and of course there's plenty of things to tinker with out in the old dumps. Launchpad would never have thought of tinkering. Launchpad can fly a plane on duct-tape and glue, but actually _making_ something? That's a stretch.

Or was, anyway.

Eyes closed, snoring away, Launchpad is steered through busy lanes of traffic without a single thought. He even checks the mirrors properly, despite not seeing them.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other near the clutch, he takes a piece of tissue paper and a pen and starts jotting down a design.

It starts out as a rough sketch of Drake's-- _Darkwing's_ face. But then it becomes more stylized, with small rockets on the sideburns.

Launchpad swerves into a gas station and fills up, not even realizing what's going on. Then it's back to the drive.

The half-drawn image of a Darkwing's head with rocket boosters is slowly covered with calculations.

It's a good night.

And then he wakes up at home, takes some coffee, spills a little, wipes it up with the napkin sitting beside him in the car, and a tiny part of his mind is for some reason using words that he didn't even know he knew, and certainly isn't intending to use in front of Dewey.

* * *

Jim…might sleep. Might not. It's difficult to say.

All he knows is, he's suddenly younger again, and back before a big studio producer.

"So, let's run through this again, Mr. Starling," the producer's saying.

Jim clears his throat. He's still young, and his voice has still got that fuzzy edge to it. "Yes, sir. You see, I keep thinking that, what with all these stories about fairy-tale princesses and ancient legends on TV for kids these days, there's room in the market for something new. A spy story!" He whips out The Book. "Based on the expurgated ghost-written autobiography of Derek Blunt himself, part of an operation so secretive it _still_ can't be named! It'll be great!" He's really getting into the swing of it now. "So many daring expeditions into the heart of the unknown! Battling away the forces of evil, no matter where they may strike! Great gadgets, designed by the best! It'll be sensational!"

"Yes, yes, I get that bit," says the producer. "But what's the actual _point_?"

"…wha?"

"Mr. Starling, it's all very well and good to talk about spying and such. But you're talking about a production that could run into hundreds of millions of dollars, and there just isn't enough popularity in the current trends for spy films, much less a children's television show. Besides, what kind of message would it send? What sort of model could Derek Blunt be for children?"

Jim's not quite sure what happened next, but suddenly he's before another producer.

"Maybe if there was just one place you visited, instead of many…how could any studio afford that kind of budget? It's not like we're Scrooge McDuck."

And another.

”You were a stunt actor, right? Perhaps you could find something more your speed? I hear they’re looking for a LeFoie for that new _Cutie and the Critter_ production...”

And another.

"I loathe, despise, abhor, and detest it. I am frustrated, revolted, and disgusted by it. In other words, Jimmy boy, I wouldn't run this show if it was the last script in the world! I do like the idea about the robot superhero, though."

And…

"Look, Mr. Starling, here's a deal. I'm an old stagecoach-rider, I like to see a bit of action in things. And I think you've got that look in your eye, too. If you can make me something that grips me, sends a chill up my spine, _without_ any of your fancy-nancy gadgets and locations and complicated villains, I'll show it to my kids. If they like it, the studio's yours."

And suddenly he's left with a dark stage, a costume, and Dan Mousellaneta, a nice enough guy with a grating voice who's yelling at him to hurry _up_ already, Jim, they're _here_!

And he still hasn't figured out a costume!

He's gotten everything else just right. He _had_ to. But a costume…oh, no, he hadn't even thought about _his_ character! What a way to spend an evening, polishing up the look of the place.

So he looks around, and finds an old purple cape and a coat and a floppy hat.

And suddenly--

\--a smoke bomb--

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the…the director's appointment that makes or breaks your script! I…am _DARWIIIIING DUCK_!"

\--there was someone new.

Mousellaneta-- _Megavolt_? What's Megavolt doing here?--groans. "Really? Is that what you're going with? I mean, you almost had me at the first part--"

"It'll work, Dan," says Jim, with absolute certainty. "I'll _make_ it work."

"Without the spies and the locations and the neat gadgets? I did some work back in college, I could probably--"

"No time for that just yet! For now, what we're looking for is the _attitude_!"

Darkwing Duck looks out at the studio. "Yes! Because Derek Blunt can't do much for kids, not that they'll understand, but _everyone_ understands that there are villains, right in their own cities! People who live in their own fantasies, people who don't see the bigger picture--people who would do untold harm to others, without realizing it! We can set out to _conquer_ that, Danny!"

"With a purple cape?"

"With a figure that cuts through the night! And the night…that's what tells you who you _really_ are. Oh, you can try to shed some light on it--all those colourful nightmares--but the night is old, and the city asleep. And through it all stands a watchful figure, who will never back down, never surrender, never stop getting _right back up_ to face down everyone who doubted him! _That's_ what we can give to them, Dan! The master of the light, taking the brightness from other's lives to try and make it into something for everyone, and me as the one bringing it back to people so they can do it on their own! It's got drama, it's got tension, it's got comedy! And all under the work of the…the panic you feel in the night!"

Dan looks at him, and shrugs. "Should stick with 'terror that flaps', Jim. I mean, it's silly, but, you know, it's kind of got a ring to it."

Jim looks over at him. Then he shrugs. "Eh, okay fine, you make a good point."

And he hears the clapping, down in the audience.

There's the producer, with a broad smile on his face. And a tall lady, quite stunning.

And for all he’s in a costume, Jim has never felt more like _himself_ than at that moment. His head is spinning with new ideas, everything he’s ever read, wondering, pondering, _how can I put this to use_? How do I make this the best show I’ve ever wanted to see?

It starts now.

"You're off to a good start, Jim. Now, you have anything else to show me?"

"Yes _sir_!"

* * *

Morgana dreams.

She dreams of a deep, dark void, half-obscured by billowing clouds. The clouds create a bubble around her. The emptiness, speckled with stars, goes further still.

And she dreams of a little girl, sitting on a swing, in a red T-shirt, with red hair in neat coifs, hugging at an old purple blanket. She sits down next to her.

She dreams the little girl says, "I know you tried."

She dreams she says, "I thought for a minute it was actually him. That he'd recognize me. That I could tell him where _you_ went."

She dreams the little girl's beak droops. "I don't think he'd believe me. He's not going to forgive me now."

She dreams she says, warmly, "He _will_. There's nothing to forgive. You didn't mean it."

She dreams the little girl says, "I kind of did, Morgana. I tried being good, honest I did, but that wasn't enough."

She dreams she says, "Then we'll _make_ it enough. When we find him. We have to find him."

She dreams the little girl sighs. "You don't even remember his name. Not when you're awake."

She dreams she says, "I know. That's the worst of it, this curse."

She dreams the little girl says, "You still think we can do this?"

She dreams she stands up, and says, "I _know_ we can. We have to. We have to find him, so you can come home."

She dreams the little girl says, "He's forgotten who he is, too."


	4. Redshirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which coffee is consumed, Gosalyn makes a new friend, and Cath Scoter is not amused (well, maybe a little).

Breakfast? Nah, breakfast is for one o'clock in the morning.

 _Brunch_ , though, is a perfect meal for ten o'clock--well before Drake has to get to work, even if it's too late to see Gosalyn off.

He and Gosalyn argued about whether or not she actually _needed_ to go to school. Drake was quite adamant that she did; Gosalyn tried to skirt around the issue. "Not like I actually _need_ to," were her words. "Doesn't this count as, like, an apprenticeship or something? I can put that on a form and learn by myself, right?"

Drake wasn't impressed. Even with the pouty beak. There was a row, Launchpad did some kind of magic, and the next thing Drake knew Gosalyn and he were actually speaking to each other as full adults--maybe for the first time in their little story.

Little story short, Gosalyn now goes to school every morning, one of the bayside institutions with a flexible schedule and a good woodworking lab. In the end…well, Gosalyn is probably still a little mad that she can't stay on full-time. But what kid actually _wants_ to go to school?

The Tower…feels so _empty_.

When Drake started--not too long ago--he'd kind of expected to go it alone. Oh, the _first_ Darkwing had his admirers, occasionally members of a fan club on the show, but at the end of the day he stuck it out on his own. That's the legend that Jim Starling managed; that's exactly what Drake Mallard has trained his whole life for.

Only…maybe that was a slightly insane comparison. Jim Starling was working in a crowded studio. Nobody really knew what _kind_ of person he was, outside the studio ( _Maybe that's better_ , whispered a little dark voice), but inside the studio there were always people around, at every moment. Darkwing Duck had the spotlight on him all the time, in or out of film takes.

Which made Drake try harder to keep the spotlight on _himself_. If you can't get a steady stream of attention, do it in great bursts.

And yet…

And yet, somehow, that's melting away. Somehow, the _I-really-do-care-but-don't-you-dare-acknowledge-it_ attitude from Gosalyn, and the ever-cheerful open admiration from Launchpad, have become something more fulfilling. Somehow, they've become the people who matter most.

Which makes mornings like these even _worse_ , because now they're not even here.

Drake might come to hate mornings, in fact.

"Wanda, status report," he manages, gruffly, as he wanders through the main area dressed in pyjamas and a red robe.

" **No crimes detected,** " says the super-computer briskly. " **The Duckburg police are still looking for suspects on the lacerations case from March, and movie-goers apparently reported a disappearing cartoon character last night, but everything's quiet. And yes, Gosalyn took her lunch from the fridge, so can you please not spend five minutes wondering if you actually made it this time?** "

Drake isn't really paying attention. "Great, great, keep it up," he mumbles, and goes off to find his coffee.

"Don't suppose I could link you up to the coffee machine, could I?"

" **Just in case you've forgotten, my name is Wanda. WAN-dah. Not Sirius.** "

"Remind me why Fenton decided to inflict you on me again?"

" **Because he actually thought about the potential needs of a crime-fighter beyond smoke bombs and a cape?** "

"I…" Drake stifles a yawn, "…am not indulging you this morning until l've had my coffee."

Fenton, bless him, knows how to make a computer that actually shuts up when _really_ needed.

Ah. Coffee. Sweet, caffeine-induced bliss. A jolt through the spine, a widening of the eyes, and slowly the world comes back into focus.

And now for a bagel, and a quick change into something suitable, and a drive down the Tunnel to the St. Canard Movie District, and _oh no not another day with Cath Scoter_ …

Wait.

"Disappearing cartoon character?"

* * *

New school, new attitude. And, quite frankly, new challenges.

It isn't that Gosalyn is stupid. Grandpa was effectively a private tutor for years. Of course, this means that Gosalyn is extremely well-versed in mathematics, mechanics, and physics, but not so much in terms of _literature_ (bleh). Or history. Or biology. Or chemistry. Or languages. (Except Swahili, but she's saving that up for game night.) Which for _some_ reason people think are just as important. Wouldn't a world-renowned multidimensional theorist know better? Bleh.

Or that she really wants much attention. She didn't really need much in terms of outside company, except maybe the occasional kid on a bring-your-offspring-to-work day. The acrobat team was always fun, but it wasn't like she bothered with finding a really close friend. Not when she had Grandpa. Just lots of people to talk to. Same thing at the orphanage, really, even if it was only for about a year or so.

The issue was, Taurus Bulba had happened. And quite annoyingly, while there were several things about her new life that she wasn't going to give up for the world, one of the things she'd ditch in a heartbeat if Drake had actually let her was _school_.

At least it was better than the school near the orphanage. Nice enough place, and the workshop was fun, but seriously, who _needed_ to know anything about history? History was _boring_.

 _Boooooring_.

And for some reason Scrooge McDuck featured in a lot of it. Typical indoctrination, am I right?

The teacher is _still_ going on. Yeesh.

Gosalyn risks a surreptitious look around the room. A couple of people are actually writing stuff down, the skinny downy kid in the giant glasses particularly quickly--Bert, right?--but most of the rest of the class looks as bored as she was.

Gosalyn decides that something must be wrong with Bert.

She lets her ear filters through again--

"The Calisotan trade policy with Mexico remained roughly the same for the next--"

Aargh, what would make this lady shut _up_? It isn't even like she's talking about something interesting.

Mexico. Grandpa went once, but her _mamá_ was from Duckburg and hadn't even visited her parents' home in years before…well, Before. Dewey might have been, but the kid's _way_ too hyperactive to have a coherent conversation with for any length of time. His best friend Webby ("See, _this_ is the Webby as in 'Let me be your Webby'! Has she amazed you yet? First time we met she kidnapped me and threatened me for invading her house! It was _awesome_!" "Aww, Dewey, you remembered!" " _You invaded her_ _house_?") is even more obsessed with Scrooge McDuck than her history teacher, so _definitely_ no. Maybe Drake or Launchpad? How to plug them for info without making it _seem_ like she was plugging them for info?

Wow. History class _is_ making her think about all the big questions.

Bert has an Astroduck knapsack.

Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. Bert has a carefully-inked drawing of Astroduck on his knapsack. Which doesn't look _too_ too bad, admittedly.

There is _seriously_ something wrong with Bert. Nineties cartoons on school items? What a geek.

(It's not like she's ever thought of doodling Quiverwing Quack on _her_ knapsack. Well, not until she learns how to draw a little better.)

Gosalyn hunkers down and looks at her textbook. More and more boring _words_ , instead of actual equations, things she can use to _do_ something. Why can't lunch period come sooner?

* * *

Hey, it's not like Cathy _lives_ for these moments. She's a polished and perfected professional.

Doesn't mean that she isn't allowed a _little_ enjoyment when Drakey Mallard shows up. He's just too easy a target.

"Yo, Dork! Back for another beating?" She even punches a fist.

"Hilarious, Catherine," says the stunt double, rolling his eyes as he walks into the coffee room.

"Pretty sure I've told you it's Cath," she snarks, picking up her cup and adding extra sugar.

"Pretty sure I've told _you_ it's Drake," he snarks back, setting the machine boiling again. "Besides, I do not 'take beatings'. I…shoulder burdens, that's all."

"Uh huh." Cathy's not impressed. "And the fact that you've actually turned up for work means that you've found another burden to shoulder?"

"For your information, Mister Tosco himself reminded me that Gascon had a fight scene today," Drake says primly. "What about you, still too chicken to appear onscreen?"

"Why, Drakey, I never knew _you_ to be a speciesist," says Cathy in mock-shock, putting a hand over her heart.

"What?" Drake looks alarmed. "No, no, I meant--"

"I'm messing with you, you goof." She rolls her eyes, but can't quite keep the grin off her face. "Anyway, I have no idea what the politically correct term even _is_. You might as well tell people to stop ducking."

Drake does snort at that one. "Yeah, somehow shouting 'Crouch!' doesn't quite have the same ring to it." He enunciates "cuh-ROUCH!" like a cartoon character, then slumps back into a chair across from her.

"Besides, working from behind the scenes has the advantage that I don't have to deal with all the crud that goes on onstage, right? Just covering my bases."

"Lucky," moans Drake. "You know, I am _nearly_ certain the townsfolk weren't nearly as mean to Coquette as they are in this movie. What kind of point is Mister Tosca trying to make?"

"You actually watched _Cutie and the Critter_?"

"Hey! It was just to, to…familiarize myself with the material, that's all! Don't tell me _you_ didn't watch that feather duster's performance to get some inspiration for your lines."

"What's the point, she only had about three lines anyway and they weren't all that good. Just had to be _flirty_ , like that's all that matters in a character. No depth at all," escapes her mouth before she can stop it. "I mean, so I've heard. Because other people told me about the part. And such."

"You know, it's perfectly fine to familiarize yourself with the material."

"Sheesh, who are you, my dad? Don't teach your grandma to suck eggs, buster!"

"Okay, okay! Sorry if I stepped on a toe…"

They drink their coffee in silence.

There's one advantage to drinking coffee with Drake: for some reason everyone else gives them a wide berth. Not individually, of course. Drake's a nice enough guy, and of _course_ Cathy's popular. Just when they're together. Which is kind of weird, but hey, if it gets her some peace and a bit of time to snark before work, it's not too bad.

"You know," says Drake suddenly, "it's not like you have too many lines in this, either. How come you keep hanging around all day?"

"Good place for coffee and a lot of my friends work here," she responds. "Plus it's close enough to other parts of Roaring Mouse Productions that I can get between jobs quite easily. It's voice season, after all."

"Riiiight." Drake makes a face. "It's not even very _good_ coffee."

"Tastes fine to me," shrugs Cathy, taking another sip.

"With the amount of sugar in it, anything would taste good," snarks Drake. "Just like Gos' cereal. I'm amazed she gets to bed at all."

"How's she holding up at the new school?" Gosalyn is always fun to talk about. She'd never have guessed Drakey Mallard was the type to have kids, but it's clear he's devoted. And Cathy's good with kids--thinks on about their level, her friends say, giving her license to throw something at them. It's about the one conversation topic they have where they don't argue all the time.

"I think she's okay with it," Drake admits. "Still no friends yet, nobody close, but at least she's engaged. From the way she complains about her homework, anyway."

"Yeah, homework's boring no matter what age you are," sighs Cathy. "Have you thought about bringing her in here? Plenty of people have kids who can relate."

"Ah, she's already kind of tied up in my work life," says Drake, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Probably better to keep her well away from these cheesy scripts."

"Granted, this stuff is kind of dull. But still." Cathy hopes her face is as serious as she feels. "I don't know the whole story, Drake, and I'm not going to ask, but it sounds like building up relationships is hard for Gosalyn. She might find it easier if someone her age knew what she was going through."

"That, I think, might be a bit tricky," says Drake. Then he sighs, and looks thoughtful. "But…well, I guess it couldn't hurt to see what the studio kids are like. Shouldn't be too hard to vet out some of the worse ones--"

"Really? You're not going to let her do it herself?"

"Look, it's important that whoever Gosalyn makes friends with is someone who's actually trustworthy," says Drake. "Someone who won't mess her about for being, well, her. I just want to get that out of the way first."

" _Look_ , Drake-a-roonie, it's _her_ friend, not yours. It's not like she's dating anyone or anything!"

Drake freezes up so quickly he even forgets about 'Drake-a-roonie', and that name usually works wonders. " _Dating_? Wait, wait, wait, she's _way_ too young to think about that--"

"I'm not saying she _is_ thinking about that, just that--"

"Anyway, she's still _my_ kid and I'm going to do what's best for her!" There's a pride in his voice when he says " _My_ kid" that Cathy doesn't know how to feel about.

"Right, and no second opinions?"

"Why would I need a second opinion?"

"Be- _cause_ , Dorkwing Dunce, you're kind of new at this!"

 _That_ gets a reaction. It's an open secret that Drake is obsessed with Darkwing Duck. But then again, her obsessions are kind of obvious too, and he goes for the knee shot.

"Look, Quibblewing Qualmish, I may be new but I have _exactly_ what it takes to make sure Gosalyn's okay! And I certainly don't need _you_ to tell me how to take care of her!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Cathy's taller than Drake by about a head, and she makes sure to use that to her advantage as she rises and puts her hands on her hips.

Drake visibly backtracks. "I _mean_ , it's not anyone's concern but my own how I take care of her! You don't even _have_ kids!"

"This isn't taking _care_ , this is controlling! You're literally telling me that you're going to decide who even gets to _meet_ her! Not cool, dude!"

"I didn't mean it like _that_ , I just want to make sure--aargh, you are _impossible_ , you know that? Impossible!" Which is normally a sign that she's right. "Now if you'll _excuse_ me, I have to get to the set!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Drake drains the last of his coffee, crunches it up, and throws it into the trash can. Then he storms out, muttering under his breath, "Overbearing quacky-voiced…"

"Quacky-voiced?" Cathy can feel her hair frizz up, and she starts after him. "Now just you listen here, you egotistical dunderhead…"

But he's gone. Might as well have vanished into smoke.

Darn it, she has _got_ to learn that trick.

"I do _not_ have a quacky voice," she announces, on break after another _Klutz Wars_ session. Playing Bark Ventress always puts her in a bit of a better mood, but she's still fuming.

"You kind of do, Cath," says Olivia Quack, who voices a senator.

"I do _not_!" Darn it, is _now_ the time for her voice to break?

"I take it coffee didn't go well this time?"

"Idiot wants to screen who gets to see his daughter," Cathy grumbles. " _And_ he dissed Quiverwing."

"And did you go after Darkwing first?" asked Olivia.

"Did you not catch the first part of what I said?"

"I'm almost certain they're going to end up transplanting your character somewhere else," says Olivia, calmly. "Another movie or something. It might be kind of fun."

"I mean, it's not like he's got much to hide. He's a stunt double, for crying out loud! A degree in criminology, a voice that could rival Jim Starling's, and he goes for stunt double jobs! How's that a good life for his girl?"

"Now, the senator, I'm almost certain they're going to write out soon," Olivia continues. "She can't be in the fourth movie, after all. I just hope I get a good sendoff. Maybe I die trying to avert your reign of terror?"

"It's not like _I_ don't have better things to do than worry about how they get on! No, sir, he doesn't have to keep coming to _me_ to talk about his daughter? What, do I just scream, 'Helpful advice for kids' or something?"

"Scream, maybe," says Olivia.

"Oh, look who's listening," says Cathy haughtily.

"Look, this will blow over. It has the past twenty-three-odd times you and Drake have gotten into this fight. Neither of you will admit you're wrong, but you'll both end up admitting the other was right, and then get back to getting on each others' nerves." She looks back at the script.

"Well, I'm _not_ wrong! Anyway, _he_ keeps blowing things out of proportion!"

"Fancy a late lunch?"

Cathy sags. "Yeah, I guess."

They walk along Walter's Way, away from the recording studio and towards the mega-mall. Sets of all sorts surround the place, and there are plenty of animals practicing their lines. As well as a couple of brooms sweeping the walk on their own (the original Michael Mouse had been very prolific as regards magic).

"You have a place in mind?" asks Olivia.

"Yeah, it's just through this building," says Cathy, walking into the Hangars where the big movie sets have been since the first Mr. Mouse's days. "Goof's Café is just this way…or was it this way…aargh, where's a map when you need one?"

Annoyingly, she turns right onto the set for _Cutie and the Critter_ , which is largely green-screen these days.

It's all set up for the battle atop the Critter's castle. The strange, sagging, hairless face is a marvel of prosthetics, a perfect blank slate representing the Critter's lost identity. And there's Drakey, up on the battlements, posing with his sword. There's no need, they're on a five-minute break.

He looks down, and blinks in surprise. Cathy's by the edge, not really visible if you're not looking for her, but Drake's managed to home in on her. Brilliant.

Aw, nuts. They're _professionals_. She can play make up, if it means both of them do their jobs properly.

She hesitantly offers a smile. Drake looks a little annoyed, then regretful, and briefly smiles back. Just a flicker, but it's there.

Good, that's settled then. That's about as close to an "I'm sorry" as either of them are really comfortable giving.

She visibly lets out a breath of air, pantomiming a little.

And he rolls his eyes at her.

Cathy makes sure he sees stick out her tongue and wiggle her fingers next to her ears. The last time she'd tried that, he'd nearly fallen off the set in surprise. And then he'd been glowering at her for days.

Of course, the idiot had to come by the recording booth and make faces. Bark Ventress' annoyance at Anakin Skysquawker had reached peak levels that time. Kind of a prank war, if prank wars were something adults actually had.

Aw, nuts, just another eye roll.

"You know, for two people who hate each other, you sure do spend a lot of time together willingly," says Olivia.

"Shut up," explains Cathy.

"Oh-KAY, people, let's get this show moving, no time for jokes, we need to keep at this! Hey, Mallard, you planning on actually doing any fighting up there, or just playing around with the cutlass?"

Ken Tosco is a giant in his field, and a giant on the regular field too. Then again, he is a walrus. But the director is better known for doing rather cheesy vampire movies, not Roaring Mouse productions. (Barely any gore in them, either, just mushy stuff.) Why he was hired to direct the "reimagining" of a classic children's movie is anyone's guess.

"Let's run through this _again_ , Mister Mallard. The Critter comes roaring at you, and you stand your ground and start swiping at it with your sword. You got it?"

Drake mumbles something under his breath, but calls out, "Noooo problemo!"

"Then ACTION!"

The Critter--actually Dan Steerens, who insists on doing all his own stunts--leaps forward with a growl. Well, sort of. It's actually him yawning and making claw-like hands, which looks strange on a swan, but the animation team will clear that up soon enough. Drake, who is playing Gascon (because Richard Whitefish, who is a bear, is afraid of heights), prepares his sword.

It's about this point when the wall explodes, and Drake is sent flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be a little understated here, but I'm not too big a fan of Cutie and the Critter--I mean, Beauty and the Beast. I mean, Dan Stevens and Owen McGregor for the win and all, but…anyway, see if you can spot the references in here.  
> And yes, we finally meet Cath Scoter! Hopefully one of these days I'll learn how to write something that passes the Bechdel Test…


	5. Worried Faces

**From _Darkwing_ _Duck: Let's Get Dangerous_ (2019) by Bruce Quackington**

_In the summer of 1996, there was a play. A very brief play. A play put on by two up-and-coming actors, both intent on proving themselves to the world. Curiously, neither was trained in the field. James "Jim" Starling was a chemistry grad student, and Daniel "Dan" Kosumi Mousellaneta an electrician. Neither had much acting experience beyond their respective high school drama clubs. But that barely mattered, once they got down to business._

_The program was simple enough: a villain trying to plunge a city into darkness, a hero trying to stop the villain. And yet, with barely an outline to work with, the two bounced off each other brilliantly. These two took every parody they could think of and slammed them into each other. The voices were perfect; Jim's took on a level of bravado that would come to define all his work as the Masked Mallard, and Dan's deranged depiction--christened Megawatt, later to become Megavolt--was delivered with a grating, blazing tone that sounded like lightning on a wire._

_I was fortunate enough to be there when that play happened. So was Mr. Thaddeus Rockwell, a pig from Duckburg with a flair for the dramatic, and his sponsor and advisor Catherine Skate._

_Not that the plot was really up to snuff, not really. Just a parody of superhero films that had appeared across the decades. What caught me was the fact that, despite everything, the actors seemed so_ natural _in their costumes. Darkwing Duck in a purple jacket and coat, Megawatt in a yellow jumpsuit with a hard hat and a fake battery. But the dialogue could have come from the Adder Boys._

_What impressed Mr. Rockwell more, when it came to the review, was the fact that they'd barely had time to work out the jokes. Each had built up a list of things the other might say, and created jokes around that. All they knew going in was that Megawatt was going to be terrifying, Darkwing Duck was going to win, and that they had to make it funny. Neither knew exactly what the other would do, but they had a hunch._

_In a countless other worlds a million-to-one shot like this was never going to work. Where was the heart, the producers would say? Where was the kid figure so the audience would have someone to relate to? Where was the sidekick to bumble along and provide the comedy?_

_Those things would come, in time. But from the beginning,_ Darkwing Duck _was about the light and the dark--and about the fun that comes with the job, be it hero-ing or villain-ing._

 _And after the introduction of more likeminded members--the suave Jack Granger (historian), the loveable Tino Iguana (biologist), the gleeful Michael Chimes (contortionist), and the wise Threshold O'Honk (pilot and inventor)_ _\--the band of six would pull together to create a show full of improv, cheap special effects that_ always _looked fantastic, and a surprising amount of heart._

_With a little help from us writers, of course._

* * *

"Let's run through this _again_ , Mister Mallard. The Critter comes roaring at you, and you stand your ground and start swiping at it with your sword. You got it?"

"You know I actually read the stage directions, right?" mutters Drake to himself, but he _says_ , "Noooo problemo!"

"Then ACTION!"

Dan's really quite a sweet guy, and _definitely_ deserves better than this murky old remake. Mind you, so does Cathy and, for that matter, Drake himself. How's he even supposed to fill in for a bear as a stunt double? It just doesn't _work_.

But that's what Mr. Tosco wants, and it's a job. It gets the bills paid, it lets him stay close to Gosalyn.

He ignores the twinge in his chest as he subconsciously adds, _until she gets her real family back_.

Dan makes claw hands and yawns, and charges forward--

\--and suddenly there's a _boom_ , and bits of set are flying everywhere.

So is Drake Mallard, and Dan Steerens too.

" _Ye-ah-WAAAAAAA_ \--"

Owww. Right on the beak. That's gonna leave a mark. His shoulder feels like it's on fire.

"Oooooh…"

"DRAKE!"

Suddenly there's a warm hand on his cheek and the smell of apples in his nose.

"Oh, hey, C-athy…" Drake lifts his head and then slumps down again.

"You _idiot_! What were you _thinking_?"

He starts to say, "Hey, it wasn't--" but then he realizes she's not talking to him.

"Ma'am," begins Mr. Tosco, "I assure you--"

"You put _actual explosives_ near the base of your set? What kind of pea-brained idiot _does_ that! You could have gotten them killed!"

"Ma'am, those explosives weren't even supposed to be armed until the scene where the castle blows up!"

"With the actors _on it_?"

"Heavens, no! Just the stunt doubles!"

" _Just the stunt doubles_? Are you _insane_?" Cathy drops Drake ("Oof!") and storms over to the director.

"Mister Mallard can handle it! Can't you, Mister Mallard?"

"Why I oughta--"

Drake calls out before this develops any further. "Cath, it's okay! The castle's only plastic anyway! And nobody got h--wait, where's Dan?"

"Uggghh…" groans Dan in reply. He's lying on his leg, his face scrunched up in pain.

"Oh my goodness, this is terrible!" Tosco's all flustered now, rushing over to the actor as fast as his weight can carry him. "My dear Mr. Steerens, I _do_ apologize! We'll have medical personnel on the scene as quick as we can!"

" _Now_ he's reacting," mutters Cathy.

Dan, to his credit, says, "Wait. What's happened to Drake?"

"Mr. Mallard? Oh, he's alright, barely a scratch on him."

"Well, he's right that there aren't any scratches…" Drake moans.

Time to get up. He pushes himself off the ground, and winces. Cathy's back again, bracing him.

"You _idiot_ ," she mutters.

" _There_ you are," he mutters back, and she snorts.

"When I asked you if you were coming back for a beating, I didn't mean _literally_ ," Cathy says. There's a genuine touch of worry in her voice.

"Hah! You think this is bad--" Drake winces again, ooh his shoulders are going to hurt for _days_ \-- "you'd…be absolutely right."

"What kind of moron puts explosives on set while the actors are on it? There is _no way_ that's actually part of set design." They start walking off the set to where Olivia has very kindly called the studio medics.

"Could be worse. One set I worked on had a real electro-gun."

"That makes this either terrible bad luck, or a severe masochistic streak."

Drake shrugs. His shoulder's feeling a lot better already. "Could be both." He grins. "Maybe I'm just indestructible."

"Hey, you might look a lot like Jim Starling, but that doesn't mean you need to try out _everything_ he did," Cathy teases, and stops when he freezes up. "Drake?"

_The flames burning, his hero's face twisted with rage and burning with a fire of its own--_

_The desperate fight, Darkwing against Darkwing, in perfect sync, darkness in the light in the darkness--_

_The swirling eyes in the chainsaw._

_"Show's over,_ Deadmeat Duck _."_

Keep it cool, keep it calm. She doesn't know. She _can't_ know. Launchpad got Mr. McDuck to cover it up. There's no reason for the world to know that ( ~~I killed~~ ) Jim Starling died the way…it happened. No reason for her to know what he--

"Drake?"

Cathy's face swims back into view. Auburn hair in a neat ponytail, eyes that dance between green and grey. A slight golden tinge to her feathers, like she’s standing in the dawn.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he insists. "Just a little…dazed, yeah. Just a little dazed."

She might not really be buying it, but she doesn't say any more.

"Hey, Liv."

"Hey, Drake," Olivia deadpans back at him. "Please stop worrying my friend?"

"I wasn't _worried_ ," Cathy retorts. "Just…mildly concerned. That happens when someone gets thrown off a storey-high exploding set."

"Uh huh." Olivia rolls her eyes, which Drake realizes is kind of normal. Cathy…needs someone to bounce off of. Someone calmer and saner, usually, to blow off the steam that's always cooking under her lid. It's like she'd get herself blown up without someone to make absorb some of the craziness.

An image of Launchpad comes to mind in the spirit of rebuke. He ignores it.

"Well, that's my work done for the day at least," says Drake. He could swear his shoulder was as good as new. Faster than normal?

Of course, then it gets complicated, because a large black puma on its hind legs leaps down from nowhere and starts shooting fire out of an axe.

"Oh, _no_ ," Cathy groans. "It's--"

"General Yawar Waqaq, the Sun King's crony! He's on a quest to recapture Aawk, the Voice of the World God, before he finds an heir to reunite the empire!" exclaims Drake.

Cathy gives him an odd look. "Wait. You actually _watched_ _Legend of Aawk_?"

Drake feels himself blushing. "Gosalyn's kind of gotten me into it. Working through the first season, but it's not bad."

"Let me know what you think of the second season," says Olivia, innocently. Cathy glares at her. "What?"

"I am Yawar Waqaq the Conquerer! I am Yawar Waqaq the Moon-Slayer! I am here for the Voice of the World!" roars the puma.

" _Moon-Slayer_?"

"Spoilers," mutters Cathy.

The people on the set are driven back with a wave of fire from the axe in his hand. Thankfully nothing's caught, but it's only a matter of time.

"Dan's still in there! _This_ looks like a job for--"

And then Drake realizes Cathy and Liv are looking at him strangely. "Erm…security, obviously. I'll just…run along and get them!"

"Wait, your arm's still--" Cathy calls after him, but he's already turned a corner to where he's stashed a knapsack.

Coat, cloak, mask, hat…

Up to the roof of a nearby building. Seriously, did he even hurt his shoulder?

_This is a job for…_

Come on, Drake, just like you practiced.

Smoke bomb! A shadow on the roof! Never mind that it's one o'clock in the afternoon, Darkwing Duck brings the darkness with him as a shade against the shine of sin!

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the cricket that chirps at the curtain call! I…am Darkwing Dark!"

Yawar Waqaq stops and even ( _yes!_ ) a little worried. Tosco looks annoyed. Dan looks amazed. Cathy--

Is Cath Scoter actually _blushing_? That's weird.

* * *

Bentina Beakley has gone through the motions already--made breakfast, settled the children down for online schooling, had a debate with Della over an argument with Louie, had a chat with Donald about Della and Louie, raised a signature eyebrow at Goldie O'Gilt making a surprise visit (mostly to make Scrooge embarrassed, as well he should be given their situation)--but there's someone missing. Of course, that's not surprising--Launchpad may think he can manage on three hours' worth of sleep twice a day, but it's not good for him. No wonder he's not as commonly seen around the house anymore. Honestly, that boyfriend of his over in St. Canard has got to learn to be less demanding of the poor boy. Dewey's been getting mopey, even if he tries to hide it with about the same success as an elephant in a house of mirrors.

Bentina likes to know where everyone in her little family is. Old holdover, really.

Which is why she finds herself down in what she has come to think of as Launchpad's garage.

There he is, sitting on the couch with the TV on, looking strangely pensive.

"Launchpad, what's going on?"

"Hi, Mrs. B!" he calls out chirpily. "I'm extremely disappointed in myself!"

She frowns. "That's…unusual. Did something happen?"

"I spilled some coffee and used a napkin to clean it!" Launchpad still has a huge grin on his face.

Bentina is never quite sure what to make of her colleague when he acts like this.

"Well, perhaps you could try not to spill coffee anymore?" she suggests.

"Great! That solves everything!"

"So…which one are you watching?" The telltale introduction is on, but it's a surefire guess anyway. _Darkwing Duck_ is Launchpad's comfort program.

"Season Three Episode 1, 'Heavy Mental', first aired November 21st, 2000," says Launchpad immediately. "It's one of my favourites!"

"Oh, right."

"I don't remember watching it with you before…hey, why not watch with me?"

"Well, I suppose. There's not much to do."

The episode starts the same way as always, with Darkwing narrating the events.

"The mysterious city of St. Canard, glittering in the moonlight. So glorious, so graffitied, so--hey, wait a minute! This isn't St. Canard! Oh, right, I forgot! _This_ was the time I visited--"

 _"Mount Matterhorn, the Swiss Alps," you read from the file. "John Collierson has retreated here with SHUSH's latest weapon, project_ _designation N.O.R.M.A. Enhances psychic powers. CAUTION: thinking while the ray is aimed at you may cause unalterable brain damage."_

_Just another mission. And with a new sidekick, too. Agent 19, Hermione Duckbert. She's just glad to be tagging along._

"Now remember," says Dr. Bellum, aiming her 'norma ray' at Darkwing, "don't _think_."

"Erm…" Darkwing squirms a little, "what happens if I do?"

"Your head will explode."

"Right, that's it! I am _outta_ here!"

"Come on, Darkwing, it's not as bad as all that--"

_"Yes it most certainly is!"_

_Agent 19 is restless, still new to the job. She's about the same age as Bianca's son. And she needs a reminder now and again not to get too cocky._

_"This is_ dangerous _! If FOWL uses this weapon to develop psychic soldiers, it presents a security risk for the entire world! We don't even have a proper way to neutralize the effects yet!"_

_"I get it, Agent 22, but we don't even know if they've starting testing, right? Or how much they know about the machine. We should be just fine. Just get in, take the ray gun, and leave. Easy as pi."_

_Flash forward to--_

Two dogs in gaudy costumes.

"You should be careful--"

"When you mess with those--"

_"Who can see the future!"_

_You move as quickly as you can, but the five FOWL agents keep on throwing things at you. Stones, fire, ice--_

_"19, GET DOWN!"_

_Too late. Hermione's frozen solid._

"Grooooovy," say the dogs together.

_Focus, 22. You can mourn later._

_Suddenly you're not with the agents anymore. The doors open and you're seeing Collierson for the first time. He's a tiny little dog, rather like a pitbull, but the look in his eyes is absolutely demented._

_"You're not getting this one, SHUSH stooge!" he shouts. "I hold in my hand the_ ultimate _power!"_

"Just remember, don't think!"

"Dr. Bellum!" says Darkwing, exasperated.

"Thanks for reminding me!" Major Synapse--who's _not_ Collierson, he's _not_ , he _can't_ be--aims the ray at himself and fires.

"I am not thinking, I am not thinking--"

 _The cloud of psychic energy rises up over the base, lighting crackling and the tiny head magnified fifty-fold. You_ feel _the power in this thing. A being that's all brain, all psychic energy…it could wreak untold havoc on the world._

_You've already lost so many agents. You're not losing your son. Or your granddaughter._

_There's only one thing for it. Blast him. Time for a gamble._

_"Collierson!" you call out._

_The massive cloud that used to be John Collierson turns towards you. You grab the ray-gun and fire straight up. The energy storm pulses with light._

_"Listen carefully! SHUSH Central is located on an island in the Seychelles, twelve point four seven metres up the cliff face on the north side of the bay--"_

_Shrieking, unbearable shrieking, but you carry on with the lies._

_"The chief agent of SHUSH is Duck Skywalker, and his favourite place to eat is Hamburger Hippo--"_

_The explosion rocks you off your feet, and for a second you can see the enormous face twisting in agony before--_

"Mrs. B! Mrs. B!"

\--before Launchpad's worried face snaps her out of it. The episode is finished, and the jazz is playing.

Composure, 22. It's not real.

"I need to go."

Launchpad, to his credit, doesn't stop her from leaving. Doesn't even say a word, just looks at her with gentle concern and a lot of guilt.

She doesn't need that at the moment. That can be dealt with later.

Bentina staggers up to her bedroom and leans against the door. Thank heaven Webby is otherwise occupied; she would know immediately what was happening to her granny.

But Bentina doesn't need comfort right now. She needs to focus.

The air date of the episode. November 21st, 2000.

Her last case, with FOWL rogue agent John Collierson. December 19th, 2000.

The ray gun in the show, and the one Collierson had stolen from SHUSH, looked and worked _exactly the same_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm taking some liberties with the established timeline here. The TVTropes article about the Ducktales Darkwing Duck show says it ran from 1991 to 1995, while the original show ran from 1991 to 1992 on Disney Afternoon and then ABC. But if that's the case, assuming the age chronology is still accurate within the show (Darkwing graduating high school in 1972) and that the actor is the same age as the character, that puts Jim Starling at the ripe old age of 64 at the time of "The Duck Knight Returns". In the interests of everyone, therefore (and to give Jim a little more time), I've set Darkwing Duck as a show running from 1998 to 2002. This still gives Launchpad enough time to grow into it, Jim a little more energy (50 instead of 64), and Chrissie--well, you'll learn all about Chrissie later.  
> Next chapter (at least planned), the battle between Darkwing Duck and Yawar Waqaq, and little bit more about Bert. Bert Muddlefoot, that is.


	6. A Pause for Recogitation

So, long story short, folks, I'm stuck. I have big plans for this story. It's important to tell it. But looking back at it, I don't know how well I've actually been able to portray who I wanted, convey what I wanted. As it stands I have a couple of options. I can go back and do some fairly significant rewrites of what's already here. Or I can start completely anew.

To those few who read and like this story, what would be your preference? Something new, or something borrowed?


End file.
